


Unravel

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Series: Thorinduil - from Tumblr with love [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bottom Thorin, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Rimming, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin needs to unravel. Fortunately, Thranduil can make it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unravel

**Author's Note:**

> Older prompt fill on tumblr for lordajofspontaneia.

He breathes in deeply once, twice, and doesn’t cough. It earns him a reward, a gentle caress, a feather-light touch of lips on his own, before it’s gone and he’s left yearning for contact again. His throat hurts, but not enough to actually feel bad. His wrists are bound securely together behind his back, which makes balancing more difficult than it should be as he kneels in front the Elvenking, naked and blindfolded and completely helpless. At least he’s not gagged this time, but that’s only because the Elvenking wanted his mouth.

The Elvenking’s taste is fresh on his tongue and lips, repulsive and blissful at once, and he feels he might disobey a direct order just to taste more of him, just to feel him filling his mouth and hitting his throat again. A steady hand on his jaw, however, stops him, as though the Elvenking can read his mind – maybe ha can – and so he stays very still, feeling his heart hammering against his ribcage.

‘Oh, Thorin,’ the Elvenking all but purrs, and he’s much closer than Thorin thought - his breath is warm against his face, it smells like wild strawberries.

'Oh, Thorin,’ he repeats, leans in to plant little kisses to Thorin’s neck and collarbone, 'you have been good,’ he says softly.

Thorin waits and utters not a word. His mouth goes dry in anticipation, and when the Elvenking offers him a kiss, he accepts it gratefully and allows the Elvenking’s tongue to push between his lips. He tastes of the fruit he has been treating himself to, sweet and ripe. It’s enough to make Thorin crave more, so much more. He wants hands on him, he wants those long fingers caressing his skin, he wants touch and warmth and he shudders, because he knows the Elvenking has his own plans for him: he knows he’s going to be tortured.

The kiss lasts longer than he expects, it’s slower and more intimate, and by the end, he’s feeling dizzy. The Elvenking lets out a laugh and slowly traces a single finger down the length of Thorin’s body, starting from his kiss-swollen lower lip, following the line of his neck to the collarbone, then down his chest and abdomen, pausing for a moment to brush over the trail of hair that thickens between Thorin’s legs. The finger carefully avoids touching Thorin’s erect member and moves, instead, to press a gentle caress to his thigh.

Thorin makes a sound, more like a gasp, a loud breath intake, but the Elvenking immediately removes his finger. There is some rustling as he moves; Thorin tries to brace himself for the punishment, but he has no idea what it might be and the blindfold doesn’t help. Due to this, he is not prepared for the forceful push on his back that sends him reeling forward with his rear in the air. His head hits the floor with a thud; he breathes sharply at the impact, but even more so at the harsh treatment that has him grow harder. The position of vulnerability that he is put in is humiliating, the way he knows he cannot stand back up because his hands are still tied, the way his knees tremble and his cheek touches the cool marble floor.

The Elvenking touches Thorin’s hair almost lovingly and says, in a low murmur, 'What a pretty picture you make now, my King Under the Mountain. Oh, should your subjects see you now!’ He tugs on a strand of hair a little too hard, making Thorin wince. 'Would they weep, would they cry out in outrage upon beholding their mighty King prostrated before me? Or maybe they would enjoy the view of Thorin Oakenshield on his knees?’ A slow, mirthless laugh follows the words. 'Would you allow anyone else to see you like this, my beautiful slave? Answer me,’ he demands, accentuating the order with a smack of his hand against Thorin’s behind. It’s not painful yet, just teasing for now, but it’s unexpected.

'No,’ Thorin whispers hotly and he knows his face is flushed.

'But what if I wanted to show you off?’ The Elvenking asks. By his tone of voice alone, it’s impossible to tell if he is pleased with the answer he got.

Thorin swallows nervously. 'I,’ he mutters hesitantly. It earns him a more forceful smack.

'I did not tell you to speak,’ scorns the Elvenking. The hand that landed the slap on Thorin’s behind now grabs the abused buttock and squeezes, massages, finally pinches to the point of actually being painful. Thorin is so hard, he doesn’t know if he can last much longer.

It’s only the beginning, though.

'And you were doing so well, my pretty little King. Yet here you go, defying me. Haven’t I explicitly stated that you are not to make a sound without being ordered? Haven’t I made it perfectly clear?’ The Elvenking asks, pulling on a strand of Thorin’s hair again. 'I should punish you,’ he says softly, thoughtfully, 'I should take leave of you now, abandon you to an unfulfilled need – but I won’t,’ he decides. 'You will remain quiet,’ he commands.

When his buttocks are spread and a hot, slick tongue encircles his entrance, Thorin bites down so hard on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, he can taste blood in his mouth. It doesn’t matter, because the Elvenking pushes his tongue inside past the tight ring of muscle, and Thorin knows he should be repulsed by the idea of what the Elvenking is doing, but he is not; not when he’s being reduced to a quivering mess under the Elvenking’s ministrations. He tries not to push back to impale himself on the Elvenking’s tongue, he tries to remain as still as possible to please him, but when the tongue is joined by one long finger, he briefly struggles against the ties binding his arms. The punishment for that doesn’t come, as the Elvenking takes no break from his shameful activity, as though his only goal is to make Thorin lose his sanity in this mind-numbing pleasure. Another finger soon joins the first, and both hit the spot deep inside of Thorin’s body that makes him see stars behind the black fabric of the blindfold.

All of a sudden, everything stops and Thorin is left shaking, his erection painfully hard and his every nerve ending tingling with anticipation of the Elvenking’s next move. He hears, through his harsh breathing, the sound of footsteps and for one moment, he’s terrified that the Elvenking actually intends to punish him by leaving him like this, splayed out on the floor and completely wrecked; he is relieved when the footsteps come closer and there are those hands again, touching him and grounding him and he  _needs this_  so much.

'Very good,’ the Elvenking says to him, kneading his buttocks; his hands are slick with oil that smells like some vaguely familiar plant. The fragrance is rich and fills Thorin’s nostrils, but he pays it no heed as his mind is quickly overwhelmed with desire. The Elvenking slips one finger inside his loosened hole and pulls it out, pushes in again and repeats the motion until Thorin is ready to beg, to go against the orders again.

'I will prepare you thoroughly, my beautiful King,’ the Elvenking whispers, leaning over him. 'I will spread you wide open before I penetrate you,’ he promises, planting a gentle kiss on Thorin’s spine. 'I wish to hear your voice as I do this,’ he says and pushes the second finger in.

Finally allowed to react, Thorin groans at the intrusion and tries to buck his hips into it, moans when the Elvenking’s fingers crook slightly and hit  _that spot_  repeatedly. His voice is low and hoarse as he moans unintelligibly yet again the moment the third finger is inserted; it’s so good and he may be losing his mind, and it’s also not enough and he’s definitely losing it, and he craves even more. The Elvenking, however, is in no hurry. He stretches Thorin’s hole, applies generous amounts of oil and massages him gently inside and out, even though his own breathing is quickened and he is rather affected by the wanton display before him.

It’s like an eternity, the slow torture of fingers driving him closer towards the edge, but never nearly close enough to push him over; he’s being undone, and he no longer has any control over the sounds spilling from his lips, the desperate pleas and curses and incomprehensible nonsense in what might be Khuzdul but also might not be. The Elvenking mutters something under his breath, something meant to encourage or calm Thorin, but it gets lost on deaf ears when the fingers are finally removed and replaced by the Elvenking’s erection that fills Thorin in one thrust.

Pain mixes with pleasure as the Elvenking begins to move without waiting for Thorin to adjust to the difference, and it’s good, it’s so good, the way the Elvenking’s forceful thrusts make Thorin’s face scrape against the floor, the way the Elvenking’s hands grab onto Thorin’s hips and his hold is strong enough to leave bruises, the way the Elvenking drives into him so hard and fast Thorin barely has the ability to breathe left in him. He’s being used and he loves it, he enjoys being the Elvenking’s toy, his slave, being filled so deep; the Elvenking, too, gives in to the urgency of their coupling now, pushes into him in faster, shallower thrusts, not nearly enough to give him the pleasure he needs but enough to derive his own pleasure from this.

The feeling of hot liquid filling him as the Elvenking stills his movements with a low moan is exquisite and disgusting and completely abnormal, and Thorin wants to spill so much, he wants to be brought to his own fulfilment, he needs to-

'You have been so good,’ the Elvenking says. His voice is rough with pleasure. 'You deserve to be rewarded,’ he adds and finally reaches around Thorin’s hips to wrap his fingers around his erection. Thorin hisses, the flesh is over-sensitive and painfully hard, and it only takes a few strokes and a soft command of, 'for me, my beautiful King,  _come for me_ ,’ before he spills all over the warm hand and his own stomach.

He feels wrung out, devastated, wrecked and made anew, and he collapses completely onto the cool floor. Long arms wrap around him and pull him into an embrace. Thranduil removes the blindfold and kisses his brow, kisses all over his face. Thorin lets himself be comforted, even though he doesn’t think he needs this; he knows his lover does, and it’s pleasant enough to be pampered. His arms hurt when the wrists are freed from the ties, so he allows Thranduil to massage them gently to help blood circulation.

'I love you, I love you so much,’ Thranduil mutters softly, the confession only for Thorin to hear.

Eventually, they move to the bed, where Thorin lets Thranduil lay in his arms, play with his hair and be at peace. He is already calm. After the months without his Elven lover, what they just did was cathartic. In a few hours, he knows, the sun will come up and he will need to go back to being the infallible King Under the Mountain, and nobody will ever know what he does with the one his heart belongs to when they are alone behind closed doors. Next time, though, maybe he can convince Thranduil to have him in a more public setting, since the Elf seemed to like the thought of it so much.

For now, however, he’s content. 


End file.
